Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [64]
The mage approached. He nodded slowly in greeting to each of the companions before returning his attention to Caledan. "What do you want?" Caledan said, standing to face the mage.
"These matters involve ancient magics, Caledan," the mage said unhesitatingly. "The Nightstone is an object of fell sorcery, and the shadow song itself an enchantment of great power. You will need me if you wish to truly understand their nature."
Caledan opened his mouth to protest, but Mari stepped forward and spoke before he could say anything. "We leave from the inn at dawn," she told the mage. Morhion nodded and then lifted his cowl, plunging his face into shadow.
"I will be here. At dawn."
Caledan clenched his fingers into a fist, but the Harper's hand on his arm restrained him.
"Until then," the mage said. He turned and left the room. A chill seemed to linger in his wake.
Silence reigned for a long moment. Finally Caledan spun around to glare at the Harper. "Why did you do that?" he demanded hotly.
"We need the mage, Caledan," she said defiantly. "You know we do. Think of someone other than yourself for a change."
"I think Mari's right, Caledan," Tyveris said solemnly, watching Caledan intently.
Caledan glared at the others. He knew they didn't bear the same enmity for Morhion he did-they were a forgiving lot, maybe to a fault. "I won't deny we are dealing with things-with magic-that we know little about, Harper. But I've already warned you once that the mage does things for his own purposes."
"And what purposes might those be, Caldorien?" Mari responded.
Caledan looked at the others grimly. "Maybe he wants the Nightstone for himself."
Twelve
Mari rose in the dark, before even the first gray light of morning had touched the sky. She dressed quickly in her small room, donning her soft doeskin breeches and a rust-colored coat, over which she threw a thick woolen traveling cloak of her favorite forest green.
She gathered the few items she would need on the journey, packing them in a leather saddlebag. Briefly she considered bringing a roll of blank parchment and a quill, then realized there would be no time-or opportunity-to send another missive to the Harpers of Twilight Hall.
Downstairs she found Caledan already up. Estah and Jolle were helping him gather the gear they would need for the journey. Jolle had brought down a number of swords, daggers, crossbows, and stiff leather jerkins from the attic. "Good morning, Harper," Caledan said with his wolfish smile. "So you decided to get out of bed and join us on this quest after all." Mari held her tongue. She tried on several of the leather jerkins. Finally she found one that appeared to be the right size, but the buckles were stiff and unbending.
"Here. They go this way," Caledan said, reaching roughly around her waist to fasten one of the straps.
Mari jerked away from his grasp. "I can do it myself," she said crisply. Caledan backed off, looking somewhat miffed.
Both Ferret and Tyveris arrived at the inn's back entrance just as Estah was setting breakfast on the table in the kitchen. The monk's timing was impeccable when it came to meals. Afterward, the others sorted through the attic equipment. Ferret selected several sharp daggers, tossing them experimentally in the air to test their weight. Tyveris came across a worn leather jerkin that had once been his. He grinned and pulled it on, then frowned. Unless a miracle were performed, he wouldn't be able to fasten the laces across his stomach.
"I guess being a monk agrees with you," Caledan commented wryly.
"I never liked this ratty jerkin anyway," the loremaster grumped, discarding the garment for a somewhat roomier choice.
Cormik slipped into the inn's back room to bid the companions farewell. Beneath his plain, unobtrusive cloak he was clad in a silken, gold-embroidered tunic. His opulent attire always looked a bit out of place in the rustic inn.
"Any idea how close Ravendas is to finding the Night-stone?" Caledan asked.
Cormik shook his head. "None of my people have gotten